


It's All In The Hands

by ponfarts



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Hand Jobs, Hand Kink, M/M, Mention of Canonical Character Death, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponfarts/pseuds/ponfarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers has a thing for his best friend's hands, and it's starting to get really distracting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All In The Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written in a long time, so I apologize if it's really shitty. I'm just trying to get back in the swing of things.

Countless fights and countless injuries, and Steve never really seemed to learn. It’s not that he didn’t have any regard for his own safety, it’s just that, well, he had more for others. Growing up in Brooklyn, New York was a struggle of its own sometimes. But growing up small, and fragile, often amplified that struggle. When you’re the “little guy” for most of your life, things aren't always picture perfect. Especially when you have a reputation for picking fights; and losing them.

Steven Grant Rogers was a little thing. Only five foot two inches, and with more skin and bones than a starved animal. He suffered from a myriad of ailments, many of which on their own would be more of an annoyance, than a hindrance, but coupled together? Let’s just call it too much of a bad thing. But he never let any of that stop him.

Steve didn’t like bullies. He didn’t like seeing people hurt, and he sure as hell didn’t like hurting them. But, when push came to shove, he would always throw a few punches if it meant standing up for the, metaphorical, little guy. And this mentality often got him in trouble. Usually with people much bigger than him.

But like all superheroes, there’s always the faithful sidekick.

Now, Bucky Barnes isn't a sidekick. He was much more than that. He was Steve’s best friend. His confidant, his shoulder to lean on, an ear to listen, and the closest thing to family that Steve had since his mother died.

Unlike Steve, Bucky was strong. Tall and broad, and oh so very charming. He walked with a swagger in his step, and a crooked smile on his face. And when the two were together, which was more often than not, you could see him with his arm draped around Steve’s shoulders.

The difference between Bucky and Steve however was that Bucky didn’t exactly go looking for fights. Unless you count all the times he goes and looks for Steve, because he knows he’s gotten himself into some kind of trouble. People in their neighborhood knew that Bucky and Steve were a pair. You couldn’t have one, without the other. So, when Steve was in some alleyway, getting himself beaten up and claiming that he could “do this all day”, everyone knew that Bucky wasn’t far behind.

Messing with Steve was messing with Bucky.

Most of the time, Bucky would try to be sly about it. He would sneak up behind Steve when he had his back to the street, facing the enemy. And all it would take was one look at Steve’s attacker, and it would send them running. Steve would turn and see his best friend and say something like “I had them on the ropes” and Bucky would just smile and nod, wrap his arm around Steve’s shoulder out of habit, and steer his best friend to his apartment to clean him up.

Other times, usually the more severe ones, Bucky would have to step in. He’d gain a few bruises here and there, sure, but he didn’t really mind so long as Steve was safe. That’s how things went with them.

Steve being the selfless little guy from Brooklyn, standing up for what he believed in, and Bucky being the long arm of power and protection over him. It was odd relationship, when seen from outside eyes, but to them? To them it was normal.

To them it was home.

*-*-*-*

Steve’s back slammed into the grimy brick wall of the alleyway. The air rushed from his lungs in a gust and he struggled to find his breath before throwing himself out of the way of an on coming fist.

“Not so tough now, are you, runt?” Spat a gruff voice. The figure stood over Steve, fists raised and its mouth twisted in an ugly grin.

Steve staggered up, raising his fists up with a tired huff. “You shouldn't disrespect the ladies, you know.”

The figure didn’t pause to register Steve’s remark. Instead it just threw out another fist, catching Steve in the jaw. It sent him reeling backward, into dirty trashcans that toppled over on top of him.

Cracked laughter echoed through the alley, bouncing off the walls. “Look at that, you’re right where you belong; in the garbage.”

“Look who’s talking,” Steve sat up just as his attacker wheeled around, his face colliding with a new, heavier fist. He stumbled back, a curse passing his bleeding lip. “Didn't your mother ever teach you not to pick on others?” Another punch, this time followed by a sickening crack and a harsh scream.

The attackers hands flew to his face, attempting to stem the flow of blood pouring from his nose. “-ou boke me nose!” He shrunk, hunching himself down, and away from the other man and ran from the alley, broken nose dripping blood on the ground as he went.

“It improves your looks if you ask me!” The man turned, looking down at Steve with a soft, reserved expression. “You never learn, do you?”

“I could have handled him, Buck.” Steve said. He pushed himself from the ground, doing his best to wipe the dirt and grime from his trousers.

Bucky held out a hand to his friend, pulling him to his feet and looking him over. “Yeah, I bet you could.” Bucky clucked his tongue; he caught Steve’s chin in his hand, and turned his face to the side. “He really wailed on you, man. What did you do to piss him off?”

Steve shook his head from Bucky’s grasp. “He was harassing a woman at the news stand. Someone had to do something.”

“Yeah, well, how about the next time you do something, try not to put your face in any danger. I have to look at it on a daily basis, you know...”

“Speak for yourself,” Steve quipped as Bucky slung his arm around his shoulders, welcoming the familiar weight.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Bucky led Steve back to their apartment that they shared. It was a tiny one bedroom thing. It was the first one Steve found after his mother died. It’s not the one he wanted, admittedly, but it’s the only one he could afford. Originally it was just his. He moved in shortly after her death, and he tried, as best he could, to live on his own. But it was hard to hold down a job when he was constantly sick.

Bucky moved in a month or so after. They agreed to alternate between who slept on the couch, and who slept on the bed, but that plan went out the window almost as soon as Bucky had finished unpacking his belongings. Every night since that idea was abandoned, the two slept together in Steve’s small bed in the drafty bed room. They were a tangle of limbs and blankets and neither of them would have had it any other way.

Steve was currently sitting at the kitchen table in one of the mismatched chairs. He watched as Bucky walked about the kitchen, looking for the many first aid supplies he kept stashed around. Usually for situations such as this.

Bucky pulled up another chair, sitting across from Steve with their knees almost touching. He laid the items out and set to work.

Steve watched him opening badges and uncapping the bottle of alcohol. It wasn’t that it was interesting to watch, it’s just that he couldn’t take his eyes off of Bucky’s hands. It started back before Steve’s mom died. Back before they were living together. Steve was always getting into scrapes and getting hurt. His mother worked late, so he would come home tired and sore, and often bloodied. He didn’t really do much in the way of taking care of his injuries except washing his face and clearing away the dirt.

When Bucky noticed that Steve’s cuts and scrapes weren't healing as well, and how red they would become around the edges, he took matters into his own hands.

Literally.

He would clean Steve’s injuries. No matter how small or severe. He’d take care to hold Steve’s face in one hand while he wiped the blood away with the other. Steve grew so accustomed to the feel of Bucky’s strong fingers and hands against his skin that he began to crave it when it wasn’t there.

Bucky’s touch was strong, yet gentle. He knew what he was doing and he was sure of himself. He never hurt Steve anymore than he already was, and he took care to make sure that nothing was left to chance. That nothing would risk Steve’s already shaky health.

Often times Steve wouldn't be able to tell if the heat on his skin was from Bucky’s fingers or from the inflamed skin on his face. But there were moments when he would catch a look on Bucky’s face, and know that it was neither of those two things. That it was instead, a flush of a different kind. Steve’s fair skin often grew red. From heat, or exhaustion. But nothing made his skin as red, or as hot, as when Bucky’s hands were touching his skin.

He could feel the heat of blush creep up his neck, reaching up his cheeks and to his ears and the thought that Bucky could see this happening only made it worse. The way Bucky’s hands moved over Steve’s skin was enough to make him want to take a dip in the Atlantic Ocean in the dead of Winter.

His hands moved with such ease and determination. His long fingers tracing lazy lines on Steve’s jaw when Bucky was making sure he’d placed a bandage right. The way his hands cradled Steve’s face just so carefully when Bucky was examining a bruise in the light above the kitchen sink. But what drove Steve the most wild was when Bucky would catch a drop of alcohol on his finger as it ran down Steve’s neck before it reached the safety of his shirt collar.

When Bucky’s hands weren't touching Steve, he was thinking about them. The way the scars on the back of his knuckles grew ever more present the more fights that Bucky got in to protect Steve. Or the way when Bucky had his arm around Steve’s shoulders, his fingers were drawing circles on the small muscle of Steve’s bicep.

Steve would catch himself staring at Bucky’s hands. At the way the moved when he was cooking a meal. Or the slow, steady, tap they made against the kitchen table when he was impatient. When it was just the two of them in their apartment, Steve was usually thinking about Bucky’s hands in one way or another.

Bucky running his hands through his hair. Absent mindedly touching his neck. Biting his nails when he was nervous. Bucky’s strong hands tracing the faint line of muscle on Steve’s….

That’s usually where Steve stopped himself.

He had dreams about his best friend’s hands. Dreams of Bucky touching him, dreams of holding Bucky’s hands until their pulses combined and Steve couldn’t tell whose was whose. He even filled pages of his sketch book with charcoal drawings of Bucky’s hands.

But that’s as far as he ever let it go.

There was a line that Steve imagined between the two of them and he never wanted to cross it, so he never voiced his love for Bucky’s hands.

Things went as such.

Steve would get into fights and scuffles, and Bucky would always be there to patch him up and be his healing hands.

And Steve would watch and fall in love with them all over again.

*-*-*-*

Steve lay curled on the tiny sofa in his living room, shivering under a thread bare blanket he’d dragged from his room in the attempts to regain some feeling in his limbs. It was a bitter winter day in Brooklyn. The thin glass pane windows of Steve’s apartment were doing a piss poor job of keeping the heat out, and every time the wind picked up, Steve could feel a draft cut through his apartment like a steely knife.

He had tried to keep himself busy, to keep his mind off the cold and to stay warm. He tried sketching, but his hands shook too much. He tried reading, but his teeth chattering together distracted him from the story. Eventually he just gave up all together and put all his energy into staying warm.

He donned an extra pair of socks; his nicest wool pair that he kept for occasions such as this, and one of Bucky’s older, leather jacket’s that his dad had left him. Even with the extra clothing over his small frame, he could still feel the cold settling in his bones.

He was just trying to convince himself to try sleeping when the door to his apartment swung open, letting in a biting wind. Snow flakes dotted the entranced as Bucky darted in, all but slamming the door behind him. He was huddled down into his jacket, the collar turned up to protect himself from the wind with his hands buried in his pocket.

“It ain’t been this cold since that year our families celebrated Christmas together.” Steve saw him shiver as he shrugged out of his coat. “Move over,” Bucky squirmed his way under the blanket, his added weight to the couch tipping Steve in his direction.

“Here,” Steve pulled the blanket farther up, giving Bucky more cover and warmth. Bucky reached out, curling his fingers over the edge of the blanket. He let out a small hiss has his hand brushed over Steve’s.

“Jesus, you’re cold.”

“As if I didn’t notice.” Steve tried to wiggle more into himself, seeking any heat he could find. He glanced up at Bucky, who was eyeing him. “I get that I’m turning into a human popsicle, but that’s no reason to stare.”

Bucky smiled. In one fluid motion he wrapped his arm around Steve’s chest, easily pulling his friend closer to his own body.

“What are you doing?” Steve questioned.

“Sharing my body heat and all that.” Bucky wrapped his other arm around the front of Steve, fulling embracing his small frame. “S’posed to keep both of us from freezing.”

Steve huffed. “Not sure that’s going to work seeing as one of us is almost as cold as it is outside.” He squirmed a bit more, trying to get comfortable. He couldn’t figure out where to lay his head. He couldn’t hold it up; it felt too awkward, and if he leaned it back against the couch it’d only make his neck hurt, so he decided on letting it rest to Bucky’s shoulder.

He thought he heard Bucky hum, but he wasn’t sure. He passed it off as the wind blowing through the apartment. Soon he began to notice that he was, in fact, getting warmer. Much warmer. He could feel his hands again, which he’d tucked in between his and Bucky’s chest, and the side of his body that was pressed against Bucky was significantly warmer than the one that wasn’t.

Time lapsed into a comfortable silence. Steve could feel himself drifting off to sleep when he felt Bucky shift. His hands roamed lower, tugging up his shirt. When Steve felt the searing heat of Bucky hands on his back, he jerked, startling Bucky.

“Sorry, sorry. You’re still shivering and it works better if it’s skin to skin.” Bucky let his hands splay across Steve’s back, and Steve felt a new kind of heat. One that started at the base of his spine and snaked it’s way into the pit of his stomach.

He felt his heart stop; freeze in place in his chest as if it had been left out in the cold. His breathing grew shallow, despite his attempts to keep it level. Steve could feel Bucky watching him and he felt his face flush and… oh, he was in trouble.

“Steve,” He didn’t look up. He kept his head down, still resting on his best friend’s shoulders. The feeling of Bucky’s hands on Steve’s back ever present. “You sound like you’re about to have an asthma attack.”

Steve didn’t trust his voice. He didn’t even trust his own face. If he so much as looked up at Bucky… He could feel the heat from his hands on his back. Skin to skin and closer than ever. Bucky flexed his fingers as he waited for an answer and Steve arched into them reflexively, letting out a small groan.

“Damn it, Buck…” Steve wanted so bad to move away, to get distance between them but he couldn’t tear himself away from Bucky’s touch. He didn’t want to.

“What did I d-,” He stopped himself, catching a glimpse at Steve’s face. “Oh. _Oh_.” Bucky moved to pull his hands away.

“Don’t you dare.” Steve hissed.

Bucky stilled, keeping his hands just as they were. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Steve looked up at Bucky, finally. His face was soft, the corners of his mouth turned up in a shit eating grin that, if Steve could have, he would have smacked off his face right then and there.

“Shut it, jerk.” Steve bit back a groan as he squirmed closer to Bucky.

Bucky’s face split into a crooked grin that only frustrated Steve more. “So this is what you’re into? Hands?” Steve rolled his eyes, trying to turn away from Bucky, but he was held in place.

Steve huffed. “Just yours, if you must know.”

“Why did you never tell me before?”

Steve thought for a moment. Why hadn’t he? Fear, mostly. He was afraid Bucky would be unnerved by it, that maybe Bucky would stop taking care of him if he knew. Part of Steve knew that that wasn’t true. Because he knew wholeheartedly that Bucky would never abandon him.

“I don’t know,” He said. “Just never the right time, I guess.”

Bucky made a noise; a mix between a huff and a laugh that jostled Steve. “And the countless times my hands have been on you weren’t good enough?”

Steve didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He knew Bucky understood, but still…

Silence fell between them again. Bucky hands still rested on Steve’s back, and Steve’s head was still laying on Bucky’s shoulder. Steve was worried that Bucky was upset when Bucky said “I kind of like it.”

“What?” Steve asked, his brow furrowing.

Bucky moved his hand, sliding it up Steve’s spine. Steve let out a small gasp as his fingers ran across the bones of his back. “You liking my hands. I like it.”

Steve sighed, both in relief and pleasure as Bucky started drawing lazy circles on the small of his back. “Well,” Steve said, his eyes have lidded. “You already know my opinion.”

Bucky gave a hum of approval, letting his hands wander over Steve’s back, feeling the spaces between his vertebra. Bucky’s fingers traced lines up and down his back, and over his shoulder blades, and with each movement, Steve’s body arched in response.

Steve wriggled against Bucky, moving his hands from in between their bodies to grab onto the front of his friend’s shirt, pulling himself closer. But Bucky stopped him, his hands disappearing from Steve’s back, the heat they’d given him quickly receding.

“Bucky…”

Bucky shushed him, gently with a soft smile. He unwrapped his arms from around Steve and shifted the smaller man’s frame. He let Steve settle between his legs, his back pressed to his chest and the blanket haphazardly tossed over their legs. Steve started shivering almost immediately in the cold air as Bucky’s hands wound their way around Steve’s torso, sliding under his shirt again.

Steve felt his breath hitch in his throat as he watched.

Strong, agile hands ducked under the shirt and jacket he wore, and danced their way across his skin. Big, warm palms pressed against Steve’s stomach and nimble fingers traced the faint lines of muscle around his chest and abdomen. Steve’s heart was racing and he was positive Bucky could feel it as he slid his hand over his chest.

Steve let out a small moan has the heel of Bucky’s hand grazed his nipple. And Bucky took that as a sign. He brought his hand back down, carefully pinching and winning another moan from Steve.

He leaned his head back against Bucky’s shoulder, turning his face and nuzzling it into his neck. And Bucky kept on, exploring Steve’s body with his hands, mapping every inch and learning every curve.

When Bucky’s hands dipped below the waistband of Steve’s pants, Steve thought, for just a moment, that he was going to pass out. Bucky’s nailed grazed across his thigh, sending a new kind of shiver up his spine. His hands moved from his navel, to his hips, and across his thighs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“Buck…”

But Steve said no more. He couldn’t. Bucky wrapped his long fingers around Steve’s shaft and he went rigid as heat spread through his body. Bucky started slow, pumping his hand up and down in a steady tempo, his thumb sliding over the tip of Steve’s cock as he went, slicking precum over his shaft.

Steve gave a moan as Bucky nuzzled his nose to Steve’s neck, slowly mouthing at his shoulder and collarbone. Steve felt Bucky’s teeth graze his skin and he shuddered at the touch. Bucky responded by quickening the pace of his hand, pumping and twisting his hand over Steve’s cock.

Steve could feel his stomach tightening; a pressure was building was building in him, hot and strong around the base of his spine that made him gasp and squirm in Bucky’s hand. The added friction only made it worse and he was gasping and moaning against Bucky. His face was flushed liked he’d run a mile when he came with a moan.

In the afterglow of pleasure he heard Bucky chuckle. Bucky was careful as he pulled his hand from Steve’s pants, though Steve still gave a small whimper as Bucky’s hand ghosted over his hot flesh.

“So,” Bucky said, voice gruff and heavy. Steve could feel him smiling against his neck.. “Do you have anymore kinks you’d like to tell me about?”


End file.
